undi Druro if, just when his future
was painting itself in scarlet and gold with purple splashes, he was to
be put out of the game by the death of a waster like Capperne.

On the day, then, that Capperne was at last pronounced to be out of the
wood, there was almost general rejoicing in Wankelo. The little
township threw its hat up into the air, and everyone burst into bubbles
of relief and gaiety. In the club and hotels men valiantly "breasted
the bar," vying with each other in the liquid celebration of Druro's
triumph and the defeat of the enemy at Glendora, and all the women
rushed to tea at the "Falcon" to discuss the news and, incidentally, to
see how Mrs. Hading took it, and whether any further developments would
now arise with regard to herself and Druro.

As soon as Mrs. Hading realized that Druro meant to absent himself from
the felicity of her society during his period of uncertainty, she had
thought out a pose for herself and assumed it like a glove. It was the
pose of a woman who withdraws a little from the world to face her
sorrows alone--or almost alone. A few admiring friends were admitted
into her semi-devotional retreat. Mrs. Hallett was allowed to read to
her awhile every day, and Berlie to arrange her flowers. Major Maturin
brought her the English papers and any news that was going. A quiet
game of bridge was sometimes indulged in, but Marice spent much of her
time reading and writing, and a straight-backed chair with a cushion
before it and a beautifully bound book of devotions lying on it hinted
at deeper things. A certain drooping trick of the eyelids lent her an
air of subdued sadness and courage that was attractive. A pose was
always dearer to Marice Hading than bread, and this one gave her
special pleasure--first, because it was becoming; secondly, because it
was a restful way of getting through the hot weather, and, thirdly,
because it conveyed to people the idea to which she wished to accustom
them--that she and Druro were something to each other. She was no
longer to be seen in the lounge. Having successfully impressed Mrs.
Hallett with her sorrowful mien, that lady had placed her sitting-room,
the only private one in the hotel, at Marice's disposal, and it was
there, surrounded by flowers and books of verse, that she received the
few friends she allowed to see her and wrote a daily letter of great
charm and veiled tenderness to Druro. He nearly always responded with
about three